Meaning
by Winter Sleep
Summary: This was quite new to his black and white world. A slight tint of colour in the dull mix of monochrome. Intrigued, he was tempted to learn more of this twist of Fate. This glitch in the system. This sudden exclamation mark in his copy-paste life."
1. The Glitch in the System

**Title****: Meaning**

**Chapter 1****: The Glitch in the System**

The five o' clock train towards my house was always less crowded compared to the four o' clock. I would spend my evenings in the shopping district, a five minute bus-ride or twenty minute walk away from my school. The first bus always left three minutes after the last bell rang and, depending on the day, was either very empty or very full. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, they would be full. On Tuesdays and Fridays, empty. I never took the time to delve into the logic of 'why', however, I seem to have more than enough time to memorise such trivial things as the crowded-ness of a bus or the amount of minutes needed for me to rush from my class to the side-walk. This might be proof that I don't live, I merely survive. I play out everyday like it was the week before. Monday, reluctant. Tuesday, energetic. Wednesday, so-so. Thursday, hardworking. Friday, nonchalant. Life is a path and there are more than enough junctions – called 'opportunities' – for us to choose from. All of us start off on the same path and eventually, end up in the same place. So, with this in mind, I walk and walk and walk… But…

Where exactly am I going?

They said there were junctions, but I keep walking on the same path. I feel as if someone clipped a bit of the path, copied and mass-pasted the road all the way to oblivion. Holding down the ctrl + v key for all eternity, that's productive… I wonder how far I would go until my legs finally give way… Will I reach that goal before that? Why does everyone but me seem to be striving so hard for something whereas I'm just continuously walking on and on. Like a rambling old man or a record-player stuck on the same spot. It's the copy and mass-paste. Then, the 'select all', copy and mass-paste again… Hey…

Is life really that great?

-

"Will anyone miss me, I wonder…" the strong winds of spring blew away that whisper just as it left the boy's lips. The cherry blossom tress swayed in the breeze, millions of loose petals raining down on the concrete walkways. The male watched, with his blank expression, as the excited cries of the girl students filled the air with their mindless chatter and their references to shoujo manga. 'Spring is the season for romance,' they said. 'Spring is the time for new beginnings,' they said. Love. Love. Love. Was that the only thing that managed to sink past their thick skulls? The fleeting bitterness was soon swept away by another strong gust of sweet-scented air. The view from high above the world was, in an odd way, calming to his nerves. The hand that had been so passionately clutching onto the mesh wire fence slowly began to loosen. The fence was the only thing that divided the school roof from his death. Death… Everyone ends up there one day or another, right? Is there really a point to continue living out the copy-paste life he was so sick off only to die later rather than now?

Roxas shook the wire wall, only to hear it screeching at him like an angry cat. Furrowing his eyebrows, he gave another shake. There was a sharp 'ting' as something flew across the ground. Eyebrows raised, he curiously glanced towards the rusty screw that had been weakly clutching onto the old wire fence. 'It's easily broken…' he thought and, for a split-second, he imagined himself falling. Just falling and never being able to continue his life again. It was a tad glum, his thoughts. It was a bit unsettling, his imagination. It was just somewhat disturbing, that idea.

But why was it so tempting, Death?

"Should I just jump and get it over with now?" he murmured to himself again but the wind blew his contemplation even from his own ears. Frustrated, he chewed on his lower lip and gave the fence one more shake, as if urging the wall to squeak out a 'yes'.

"I don't think you should."

This was new. Quite new to his black and white world. A slight tint of colour in the dull mix of monochrome. Intrigued, Roxas was tempted to learn more of this twist of Fate. This glitch in the system. This sudden exclamation mark in the copy-paste word document. Turning around with his white school shoes padding softly against the tiled floor, the male was quite taken aback by the sudden apparition behind him: tall, lanky and with every fibre in his body seemingly radiating off a certain air of authority, he stood right behind him. Had he been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the gargantuan of a man sneak up behind him?

"And who are you to tell me that?" Roxas snapped indignantly. He had entered his me-zone, disrupted the flow of his life. Both irritated and relieved, he wanted to know who was this person that dared to lead him off his own path.

"I'm Axel. A-X-E-L, got it memorised?" the flaming red-head replied, all of that obnoxiousness dripping with every word.

Maybe, he should consider continuing his copy-paste life for a little while longer… The unknown outcome lighted a flame of curiosity within him and gave him just a bit more meaning to his life.


	2. Percentage of Loneliness

**Title****: Meaning  
****Chapter 2****: Percentage of Loneliness**

People can feel lonely no matter where they are. As human beings, we're programmed with a constant urge to belong. Of course, this impulse isn't as strong in others as it would for some, but nonetheless, it still remains. It's in every heartbeat, every nerve-ending, every single breath we take in. But sometimes, it remains dormant, silent and barely noticeable. 'I don't need anyone, I have myself,' one would say. But Loneliness would assault people like that when they least expect it. Not as frequent as most others, but frequent enough for them to doubt their own security. Many have found tears welling up in their eyes or lead forming in their chests, and Roxas was no exception.

The air was thick with the throat-clogging pungency of frying oils and the heat of a particularly warm Spring day. From how the high-school was built, one would sometimes wonder whether the guys on top had skimped a little when constructing their canteen. It was wide enough, sure, but the ridiculously long tables stretched across that span like the printed blue ink on his notepaper. Narrow-line notepaper, mind you.

Of course, close-proximity is inevitable in a place like this.

Which makes it all the more _painful_ when you realise you're alone.

His sigh was drowned out by the ringing chatter of the congested eating hall, further magnifying the sentiment; honestly, it was more of a parasite. It found him, latched on and proceeded to nonchalantly sap him of his essence. Whether it would drop off when it was satisfied like a leech or cling on until he expired like a parasitic plant, he wasn't sure. But in his honest opinion, he didn't care.

But _he_ did, apparently...

Sitting three tables wide across him, that lanky redhead was casually spooning mounds of curry rice into his mouth. Occasionally, in between shovelling his food at his face and smirking at something one of his friends said, he would laugh. It was inaudible from where he was, overpowered by the collected mass of conversations which were being tossed all around the canteen. The cluster of noise had turned into a insignificant background buzz over time, which made it look like the male's laughs were silent. Somehow, this got Roxas wondering what his laugh sounded like. Was it loud and genuine? Was it wheezy? Did he snort when he laughed? Usually, the blonde would berate himself on thinking such odd and pointless-

Those ponderings were cut-short as the redhead made eye-contact with him and smiled.

Light travels in a straight line and the image is projected in the mind's eye through the lens in your eyes. So, if light was a solid, there would be a long, thin pole aligned between his icy blues and the other's vibrant greens. This would be quite a feat because, surely this stick is no more than a centimetre in diameter, yet it still spanned across three tables, perched between the random heads of other bystanders. If you were to let another second tick by, someone's head would have surely moved towards that pole, snapping it promptly and cutting-off the established connection. In that bit of frozen time which lasted about a millisecond, eye-contact was formed and broken.

Roxas found that fascinating and thought-provoking, yet idiotic and insignificant at the same time.

A thousand questions pulsed from his left brain seconds later, all of which doubting and questioning the point of the last two paragraphs, then lecturing him on having such odd thoughts of a person he had met just yesterday. A million 'maybe's then joined the assault (_Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe people like him leave a strong impression. Maybe one of the cooks spiked my food._), proceeded by probability calculations of each 'maybe' with non-existent numbers from statistics that were never weighed out. With every number punched into that imaginary calculator of his, his doubt increased tenfold; of himself, of the person named "Axel", and of what this would lead to in the future.

But all in all, in the chaos of his mind, he was sure of one thing:

He didn't feel quite as lonely as he did before.


End file.
